She became white and dazed. “Before—or after?” she asked. He paused a moment, looking steadily at her, and answered, “Before.”
She drew back as though she had been struck. “Good God!” she cried. “Why did he not—” she paused.
“Why did he not marry you himself?” he rejoined.
“You must ask him that yourself, if you do not know.”
“And yet you married me, knowing all—that he loved me,” she gasped.
“I would have married you then, knowing a thousand times that.”
She cowered, but presently advanced to him. “You have sinned as much as I,” she said. “Do you dare pay the penalty?”
“Do I dare ride with you to the cliff—and beyond?” Her lips framed a reply, but no sound came.
“But we will wait till to-morrow,” he said absently.
“Why not to-day?” she painfully asked.